Sharing Ain't So Bad
by KissMeDeadlyT-T
Summary: Dean doesn't like to share -especially his bed - unless it's with someone he really, truly loves. When they were young, that person was Sammy, to protect him from nightmares. Now, it's someone else, special in a different way - and Dean really can't find it in him to hate sharing anymore. -OS, fluff, cuddles, written for the Dean to my Cas.


**KissMeDeadlyT-T: Okay so since I'm on my RoyEd hiatus, I've been writing a lot of Destiel because it kinda sorta runs my life too now. *sobs* **

**-Written from my _Dean_'s headcanon about Dean not liking to share his bed, but doesn't mind sharing with Cas. "He will usually ask to be the big spoon, but on rare occasions when he is feeling extra worn out from a job, he will slowly turn in his angel's arms and just want to be held." **

**-So, maybe I deviated a _bit_ from that, and there was a bit about him not always kicking Sam out of his bed, too, when they were younger - but well I really like the brother relationship between them so I just... had to... Sorry Abbey pls forgive OTL**

**-I don't own Supernatural! Thanks for reading and please leave a review!**

**xxXXxxXXxx**

Despite being known for his selflessness, Dean Winchester did not, in fact, like to share. He did it if he needed to, of course. He'd shared the last bit of Lucky Charms with Sammy, when they were younger. He'd shared his clothes, when Sammy was cold. Sometimes, when John would leave them alone in some cheap, stuffy motel room in the middle of winter in Oregon for weeks on end, and the old, clunker of a heater would sputter and die, he'd share one of his big, soft sweaters with Sam. He'd even spend a little of the sparse money their dad would leave them and run out in the frigid, bleary winter to the corner store and buy Sammy a hot chocolate, just to see a smile light up his red cheeks, his puffy, tired eyes. The hot chocolate was crappy, sure, and maybe there was a bit of ground chocolaty-whatever at the bottom of the cup, but seeing that smile made things just a bit better. Sometimes, when Sam would cry in the middle of the night, nightmares, monsters he didn't know existed, anxiety plaguing him, Dean would sigh and call out in the dark room, over the sound of the wind howling outside. The sniffles would stop, and there would be soft feet padding his way across the dingy carpet. Sammy would crawl in next to him, curl up, and Dean would hold him close in a silent promise, _shh, Sammy, it'll be okay. I'm here. Nothing's gonna hurt you._

That there was the most important thing. Because damn it all, Dean liked having a bed all to himself. Sleeping alone. It gave him time to think, time to be alone and maybe, just maybe, let out a drop of water in the waterfall of stress and emotions and anxiety dammed up inside his head. But for someone he loved he'd give that up.

To reiterate, Dean didn't like to share - but he'd shared with Sammy when Sammy was sad. For the longest time, the only important thing in his life was Sam. Watch out for Sammy, Dean. Don't let anything happen to him. Put him first. Always. The fact of the matter was that he only shared, only felt the _desire_ to share, with people he really, truly loved. Sometimes Bobby, sometimes John - but it had always been Sam that Dean had actually wanted to share with. Wanted to make smile. Their bond was strong enough to make Dean swallow down the greed of a little boy denied his childhood, the desire to have something of his own, and just... share with him. For the longest time, Sam had been the only one he'd _really _shared anything with.

And okay, yeah, maybe he'd _shared_ his bed with more than a few women over the years, but that didn't count. He never wanted them to stay. The sex was great, but that was all it was – sex. There had always been a gnawing feeling, a sense of emptiness, even as his bedmate that night curled up to his side and traced patterns on his chest. This frustrated Dean, because he didn't understand - he hated to share his bed, but he loved banging chicks, so he figured he'd be able to get over that hatred for a night and just bask in the afterglow.

It had taken him a few years to figure it out, but... he eventually came to realize that yeah, he didn't like sharing his bed - but it probably wouldn't be all that bad if he found someone worth sharing it with. Someone like Sammy. Except different. Someone he loved as much as he loved his brother, but someone he could plant soft kisses on in the early morning as the sun streamed softly through the window, someone he could pull into his arms, someone who would open their eyes and smile at him like he was their world. Someone who was his. Someone he could share his bed with, someone he didn't have to share with anyone else.

And that... well, it had kinda scared him at the time. Now, though, the idea of not sharing his bed sorta made him feel a little sick.

The radio played softly in the corner, a low, barely audible tune that Dean, in his sleepy haze, could dimly make out as Aerosmith's _Angel_. The familiar song drew him from his sleep, and he slowly became more aware of his surroundings. Weapons on the wall, chair in the corner, door shut tight on the other side of the room. Thick blankets and sheets tangled around limbs, pillows flattened and displaced under his head. Solid, warm skin pressing against his back, arms curled around his waist, soft breathing on the back of his neck. The fine hairs there prickled and sent a tingle down Dean's entire body, and he was sure he actually shuddered with something that _totally wasn't_ overwhelmed emotions, because that would just be girly, wouldn't it?

As Steven Tyler's raspy voice sounded in the background, a small, groggy smile curved his lips. _Angel._ He could feel a mouth press a soft, tender kiss to the place where his shoulder met his neck, callused fingers brushing delicately at his side, like he was made of glass, like he might shatter if the touch was anything more than the whisper of skin on skin. They danced around that cluster of freckles on his hip, caressed the skin there, as another kiss was pressed to the back of his neck. Years ago, he'd never have dreamt he'd be lying here, for once perfectly content - like nothing could ever go wrong again.

He said nothing and instead allowed the hushed embrace to continue, sighing softly into his pillow. Normally, he liked to be the one doing the cuddling, the touching - so sue him, he'd always been a romantic deep down under everything - but it felt nice to just be held for once.

"Good morning." The words were whispered into the back of his head, the fingers dragging up his side and upwards to knead softly into a knot in Dean's shoulder. After a brief flinch, Dean relaxed, releasing another long sigh. How did Cas always know?

"Mornin'," he rumbled back, voice still thick with sleep. He felt the lips on his neck curl up and the tingly feeling returned, deep in the pit of him. It made him feel complete in a way he had never believed to be possible, and there was a fleeting thought in his mind - _Yeah, I'd do Hell all over again, just for this. _It made him feel ridiculous and embarrassed at his own emotions, but he didn't hide it. Didn't have to here. He could share - _share_ - whatever here, and it didn't matter.

"Time's it?" he muttered, eyelids sliding shut again. The hand massaging at his shoulder stopped for a moment and he felt the bed shift as Cas checked the clock. The mattress groaned, and then Cas was behind him again, curling close.

"One."

"In the morning?"

"No, Dean. In the afternoon." A moment of silence, then, "Sam came in at eight and told me he made bacon, and that we are free to have some." But he sounded sleepy, warm, calm. Like he didn't want to get up. Dean couldn't help but agree.

"You've been up that long?" Dean asked, rolling over onto his back, resisting the urge to grin like a moron when Cas automatically snuggled to his side. When Cas hummed a vague affirmative, Dean really did grin, staring down at the once-angel with twinkling green eyes. "Even after last night? That didn't wear you out any?"

Instead of flushing and awkwardly tittering like he might have done years ago, Cas pushed himself up on his elbows and loomed over Dean, a grin of his own curving his lips. It was so beautiful - yeah, he'd admit it, as sappy as that was - that Dean was almost overwhelmed. Blue eyes warm, laughing, crinkled at the corners, teeth showing, genuine. Fuck, _this _was God's finest creation. Nothing could convince Dean otherwise.

"Oh, I'm exhausted," Cas replied, still smiling. "Do not doubt that. But I'd rather watch you than sleep, anyway."

And that - that should have been creepy, but it was just so Cas that Dean had to laugh and pull him down into a kiss, because, well - Cas had been watching him sleep before they were even together, and it just kinda defined him. He could feel that Cas was still smiling, could see it in his eyes when he let his open a sliver. Not for the first time, he melted. Absolutely melted. Sometimes, he couldn't believe this was _his_. He didn't have to share this. A low hum vibrated from Cas' mouth into his, and one palm slid up his arm, gently resting where his scar used to be - where he swore, sometimes, it still was when Cas touched it.

He wound one arm around Cas' waist and was about to pull the once-angel on top of him, but banging on the door interrupted. They broke apart, breathing heavy, and if not for the insistent pounding, Dean would have taken a long moment to stare into Castiel's eyes and see the pupils blown wide with lust and underlying love and pure, unabashed need, his lips, pink and moist from the kiss, cheeks flushed pink. Emotions displayed flawlessly on a face that years ago, didn't even completely understand what emotions _were_. Actually - who was he kidding. He was staring anyway.

"Seriously!" Kevin yelled through the door, one loud bang! telling Dean he'd kicked it. He finally found it in him to look away from Cas' face, and turned to glower at the door. "Are you guys gonna eat that damn bacon or what?" The prophet sounded irritated as hell. "'Cause if you're just gonna stay in bed all day, I'm gonna eat it. You guys can starve."

"God, Kevin, who pissed in your Froot Loops this morning?" Dean grumbled, just loud enough for Kevin to hear.

"I heard that! If you guys aren't up in ten, I'm eating it." With that, Kevin huffed and his footsteps padded away until they were nothing. Dean sighed and flopped back onto the bed, throwing an arm around Cas' shoulders as the once-angel laid down next to him again.

"You gonna eat that bacon?" Dean murmured.

"Mm," Cas made a vague sound in the back of his throat, burying his face in Dean's neck, sliding an arm across his stomach. He planted a kiss at the hollow of Dean's throat. "No. I'd much prefer to stay in bed."

Dean let out a soft chuckle, thumb brushing along the slight curve of Cas' deltoid. "Me too."

They drifted into a comfortable silence, then, the only sounds being their synchronized breathing, the bunker's early afternoon noises, and the staticky music from the radio. Dean allowed his eyelids to slide shut, his breathing evening out, just letting himself _be_. He wished that it could stay this way forever. Of course, it wouldn't - when did it ever for them? - but the thought was nice. Maybe someday it could be like this. It was a long shot - he still thought they were all gonna die bloody. But maybe. Maybe.

"Dean," Cas whispered into his neck.

"Yeah?"

A moment of silence. He felt Cas' eyelashes flutter, tickling his skin. Then, quietly, so softly Dean almost couldn't hear it, "I need you." _I love you, but so much more._

Dean let himself smile - let himself hope. A short laugh came out as a puff of air through his nose, and he tightened his arm around Cas' shoulders. "Yeah," he murmured. "I need you too, Cas."

When he felt Cas smile against his skin, he thought,_ Yeah, sharing ain't so bad after all._


End file.
